“Fuck me.” For the first time, Jeff was actually grateful for the intrusive presence of the Europol bodyguards. He couldn’t remember the Separatists being so active before he went in for treatment. Or perhaps he’d filtered it all out, grown so used to their atrocities he was numb to them. Now that he thought about it, they’d been a part of European life for long enough; in their various nonviolent forms the nationalist movements predated the signing of the federal constitution. This abrupt reexposure he was undergoing certainly made them seem all the more alarming.
“The EIC wanted to be different and worse than the IRA and their kneecapping,” Sue said. “I guess they managed it. Most of the Separatist paramilitaries dish out Traitor’s Pensions now.”
Newsweb went to a studio report covering inflation, with the European Central Bank spokeswoman guaranteeing it was now firmly under control and would fall below fifteen percent before the end of summer.
“You’re not worried, are you?” Sue asked. “The EIC hasn’t said anything about you. They only target people who worked for the EU.”
“Not worried, exactly, no. But I’m certainly aware it’s a possibility. Perhaps I’d better have a word with Tim, tell him not to be quite such a pain to the protection teams.” That and a few other topics.
“Good luck.”
Jeff smiled ruefully. “I don’t think we’ve had a father-to-son chat before.”
“Hmm. Well try not to be too shocked when he explains the facts of life to you.”
12. HARD DAY AT THE OFFICE
LUCY DUKE FINALLY CALLED a halt to the media invasion at the end of the week. It meant Jeff could actually get down to some work, one area where the spin doctor didn’t intrude. His study was the ground floor of a pentagonal turretlike annex at the end of the manor. Curving windows gave him a panoramic view out over the gardens and countryside beyond. His desk sat in the middle, a large and beautiful handmade oak affair with niches for various computer peripherals. He liked to imagine it as the kind of furniture one of the better Bond villains would sit behind as he plotted world domination. The neural hypercube hardware itself was down in the small crypt below the study’s parquet floor, along with a massive rack of memory crystals, which wasn’t even ten percent full.
He started by requesting a download of all the EU superconductor project files and associated physics papers. Even with his ultra wideband datasphere connection it took over an hour. While that was running he structured some topic filters, in effect designing himself a crash course in modern superconductor theory. As the first sections began to align themselves within his grids he realized it would take months just to bring himself up to date on the general state of the field. Ah well, nobody was demanding instant results.
In the afternoon, he launched into a round of teleconferences, introducing himself to the project’s senior team leaders and university administrators. It was almost like the media interviews again; they were far more interested in
At five o’clock the computer told him there was an incoming call from Nicole Marchant. It took a moment for him to remember and place the name as that of James’s granddaughter. “Let it through,” he told the computer.
Two of the screens sank back into their desk niches, leaving the main display directly ahead of him, a tiny camera peeping at him from the top right corner. Nicole was wearing a smart gray business suit, her hair folded up efficiently; the office background was slightly out of focus.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I hadn’t heard from you.”
“Not at all.” His traitor mind kept running Sue’s comment. “Sorry I didn’t call. It’s been a bit hectic around here.”
“I know, I can’t watch a single news stream without you popping up. Incidentally, your tennis needs a lot of work.”
Jeff laughed. “That wasn’t my idea. We were supposed to be showing the viewers my happy home life. I barely know which end of the racquet to hold.”
“I could tell.” She pursed her lips. “So have you given any thought to my proposition?”
“It sounded very sensible,” he said slowly.
“Would you like to take it further?”
“A proper review would be good.”
“Excellent. We should meet to discuss it fully. Are you free for lunch next Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll see you at the Wharf Inn at Wansford, twelve o’clock. Our company has a permanent account there. They treat us well.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“Until Wednesday then.”
Jeff smiled cautiously as her image faded. The air in the study was suddenly warm for some reason. I’m an adult, he told himself, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be contemplating this kind of thing. After all, she was young, attractive, and single. Wasn’t she? “Oh bugger.” He couldn’t remember James mentioning if she had a husband or partner. And he wasn’t about to ask now.
The sound of laughter and shouting made him look up. Tim and his friends were gallivanting about outside again. It was a sunny afternoon, and they’d opened the wide glass doors around the pool building, spilling out onto the grass. Some kind of small strobing ball was being chased. Jeff smiled, glad of the distraction, and it was nice to see the manor being used and enjoyed. He was almost envious of their youth and energy; it would have been nice to rush out there and join in. Then he laughed at himself. “Idiot, you are young.” As Nicole plainly thought. That was when he noticed that half the youngsters on the lawn were girls. Annabelle was there, wearing a navy blue bikini, skin glistening as she bounded about, shrieking wildly as the ball tumbled toward her.
Jeff didn’t want to think how long it had been since he’d had sex. Not that he could remember exactly. Appallingly, it might even be over a decade. Some now-nameless woman at a science conference who’d been intrigued by who he was; even in his late sixties, notoriety could be alluring. The whole encounter had been pretty wretched. Then after that…well, it was the classic case of diverting his energies into something else, being a good father to his wonderful Timmy.
Annabelle and one of the other girls struggled to grab the ball. Vital teenage bodies gleamed in the husky red-tinged afternoon sunlight as they wrestled together.
“Click! Opaque the windows, please.”
The electrochromic coating on the glass turned smoky brown, blocking the view. Jeff took a moment in the dark, then began to call up the latest theories on organic crystal conductivity.
13. BOY’S EYE VIEW
TIM WRAPPED A BIG TOWEL around his shoulders and sat on one of the sunloungers at the side of the pool. Even though the pool doors were flung open, it was too early in the year, and the sun too low in the sky, to be lazing around outside yet. Colin and Simon claimed the loungers next to him, leaving Philip and Martin splashing about in the water with the girls.
“Did you see the
Tim cracked open a can of lemonade. He would have liked to make it a beer in front of the boys, but he had a lot of study work to do later. “Yeah. Sir Mitch held it at Mach 15 for eighty seconds.” Like everyone, Tim was fascinated by Sir Mitch Lock-heart’s efforts to win the X-orbit prize. About eight groups around the world were competing to put a reusable passenger-carrying space vehicle into orbit and claim the sixty-million-dollar prize—not
